Truths often slip out disguised as jokes, as if speaking them in a lighthearted tone could soften the blow of rejection.
Song Xun, however, didn’t overthink it. He nodded and said, “Yes, keep it up. Focus on your acting. I look forward to seeing you win an award.”
After dinner, neither of them felt like sleeping early, so they decided to watch a movie in the living room.
They were discussing what to watch when Song Xun remembered that Mu Heng had mentioned a few days ago that he had starred in an art film a few years ago. Mu Heng had asked Song Xun to watch it and share his thoughts.
Song Xun had agreed at the time but hadn’t found the right opportunity to watch it since.
“How about we watch Camellia? I heard it’s pretty good.”
Yan Jiayu nodded without asking who the lead actor was.
But as soon as the movie started and the name “Mu Heng” appeared prominently on the screen, Yan Jiayu’s face fell. So, this was Mu Heng’s movie.
Just when they’d finally found the perfect time to relax, seeing Mu Heng’s face fill the screen felt utterly irritating.
To make matters worse, Song Xun remained completely unaware and kept pulling him into discussions about the plot.
Camellia, much like its name, carried a tone of melancholy throughout, with dim lighting and sorrowful music.
This was Mu Heng’s first leading role. Back then, he was still raw and unpolished, unlike the refined jade he had become.
The plot of the film was simple: a young, elegant, and artistic teacher arrives in a village, deeply passionate about poetry and literature.
A group of village boys, curious and intrigued, flock to his classes.
His lessons are vivid and far from dull.
The boy played by Mu Heng isn’t particularly fond of literature and struggles to understand the poetry the teacher speaks of, yet he finds himself captivated by the starlight in the teacher’s eyes.
Song Xun pondered the plot carefully. It seemed like a story about a boy yearning for a world beyond the mountains, eventually carving out his own path through hard work.
Yan Jiayu, on the other hand, lay sideways. Despite his dislike for Mu Heng, he had to admit that the actor’s performance was genuinely spirited, and his ability to capture the camera’s attention was impressive.
Their thoughts drifted in different directions.
But as the movie reached its climax, the boy unexpectedly developed feelings for the teacher over time. Just before the teacher’s departure, the boy wrote him a love letter, though not a single word of affection was explicitly mentioned.
Song Xun hadn’t anticipated that this was a love story between two men—or rather, a tale of unrequited love from a young boy’s perspective.
Yan Jiayu’s eyes widened in shock. How could the plot take such a turn?
To him, it seemed as though Song Xun had deliberately chosen a film about a boy’s secret crush. What was he trying to imply?
The movie ended inconclusively. The teacher left the mountains, and the boy buried his feelings deep within his heart, never to be spoken of again.
That night, Yan Jiayu couldn’t sleep.
Tossing and turning, he glanced at his phone—it was already past midnight. He opened WeChat and decided to bother his childhood friend.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end was hoarse, as if just waking up, but neither of them thought much of it. Xiao Chenglin often called him in the middle of the night anyway.
“I have something I want to ask you.”
Yan Jiayu had previously used the excuse of a “friend” to ask Xiao Chenglin for advice, but he never had the nerve to admit that the friend was actually himself. Xiao Chenglin, being the oblivious type, hadn’t noticed a thing.
“Hey, man, do you even realize what time it is now…”
The voice suddenly trailed off.
Then came a rustling sound.
Click.
The door closed.
“Do you know how late it is? I don’t mind you disturbing my sleep, but if you wake up my wife, I’m coming for you.”
“Tsk, why are you sleeping so early? Isn’t it the weekend?”
“Ugh, don’t even ask. My wife’s school has a meeting this weekend—something about preparing for the upcoming midterms. Several schools are doing a joint exam.”
Yan Jiayu understood. Being a teacher was no easy job.
Xiao Chenglin didn’t waste time and asked him what was really going on.
“Well, I was wondering if I should just confess. I think he might still have feelings for me, but then again, maybe he was just politely rejecting me.”
“Could work,” Xiao Chenglin mumbled, his eyes almost shut, before suddenly snapping awake. “Wait, what do you mean? You confessed? Did I miss something?”
Realizing he’d slipped up, Yan Jiayu thought about explaining but figured Xiao Chenglin wouldn’t miss a chance to tease him. So he decided to own up to it.
Sure enough, a burst of “Hahahahaha!” echoed through the phone, grating on his ears.
“Are you done laughing?”
Yan Jiayu’s expression darkened, regretting ever confiding in this unreliable fool.
“Hahaha, wow, so you’re love-struck too! Remember how you used to mock me for being lovesick? Tsk, looks like you’re no better~”
Yan Jiayu had once scoffed at Xiao Chenglin’s “simp” behavior after fights with his partner, unable to understand how someone could love so intensely or how couples could argue one day and make up the next.
But now, the dragon-slayer had become the dragon. He finally understood that heartache—testing the waters bit by bit, afraid he’d know, afraid he wouldn’t, and even more afraid he’d pretend not to know.
“Sigh.”
Though Xiao Chenglin was usually careless and unreliable, he could at least offer some emotional support when it mattered.
“How about this: since you’re living together now, find a chance to confess and just go for it.”
Then, he added a gut-punch of a line:
“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
Holding his phone, Yan Jiayu’s mind buzzed. Of course he knew, but his bond with Song Xun wasn’t deep. If Song Xun rejected him and got scared off, he might never see him again.
He stubbornly told himself he was taking it slow, like simmering a frog in warm water—gentle and steady.
Xiao Chenglin heard this and laughed mercilessly again, this time so loudly it woke the person in the other room.
“Are you insane?! It’s the middle of the night—stop howling like a ghost!”
After getting scolded, Xiao Chenglin immediately apologized, soothing his partner back to sleep with a gentle voice. Then, like a seasoned veteran, he said to Yan Jiayu:
“That’s all I’ve got, bro. I’ve said my piece. Time to go cuddle with my wife~”
So annoying. Yan Jiayu really wanted to smack him.
He deeply regretted not making more friends in school, ending up with only Xiao Chenglin—this troublemaker he’d known since they were in diapers. What a mistake.
After angrily hanging up the phone, he pulled the covers over himself in irritation and began recalling the details of his recent interactions with Song Xun. Unexpectedly, he drifted into a deep sleep.
Early the next morning, Song Xun was no longer at home, but he had left a note: “I bought breakfast for you. Eat it while it’s hot.”
Yan Jiayu felt a warm surge in his heart. If only they could live like this forever, how wonderful that would be.
“Hello, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit longer. The dressing room is currently occupied. I’m really sorry.”
Song Xun and Xiao Deng stood at the filming location as the staff member bowed apologetically. Xiao Deng was puzzled—there were several spots in the dressing room, and their makeup artist wasn’t the same as the previous person’s. Why couldn’t they just go in?
Xiao Deng stepped forward to ask, but the staff member, just an employee like anyone else, explained the truth in a few words. Not wanting to cause trouble, Xiao Deng could only relay the reason to Song Xun.
“Brother, it’s Zhao Song inside.”
Talk about running into trouble.
Song Xun nodded. Waiting a little longer was fine—he wasn’t in a hurry anyway.
After what felt like a long time, Zhao Song emerged, dressed impeccably but with makeup and style that clashed awkwardly.
Spotting Song Xun out of the corner of his eye, he wore a smirk and feigned apology.
“Oh, it’s you. Haha, I’m really sorry. I don’t like having anyone else in the dressing room besides me when I’m getting ready. Hope you understand.”
As if the makeup artist and assistant weren’t people, Song Xun shook his head and replied politely.
“Not at all, not at all. If Brother Zhao prefers it that way, we’ll gladly accommodate you. After all, as younger generations, it’s our duty to uphold traditional virtues like respecting the elderly and cherishing the young. Don’t you agree, Brother Zhao?”
His words made Zhao Song sound old.
Zhao Song was only thirty-six this year, in the prime of his life. He took great care of his appearance and hated nothing more than being called old.
Seeing Zhao Song’s face darken like charcoal, Song Xun pretended to be surprised. “What’s wrong, Brother Zhao? Are you feeling unwell? Oh dear, as people get older, they often face health issues. Please don’t avoid seeing a doctor out of pride.”
Mentioning age again and again was like dancing on Zhao Song’s biggest pet peeve.
Zhao Song snorted coldly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was done pretending with Song Xun.
“Stop with the clever talk. I didn’t see you showing much respect for the elderly when it came to your father’s scandal last time.”
He deliberately brought up the incident that had caused Song Xun to be widely criticized online. Xiao Deng, standing nearby, almost rushed forward to slap him twice. Zhao Song usually appeared respectable, but he was nothing more than a hypocrite.
To Zhao Song’s surprise, Song Xun showed no sign of embarrassment or shame. He merely sighed and took a few steps forward.
“What, do you want to claim that old fool as your father too? Hahaha, Brother Zhao, you two are around the same age—I doubt he’d qualify.”
With that, Song Xun turned and entered the dressing room without so much as a glance back.
Zhao Song’s face turned green and black. Liu Fumin was in his fifties, and Song Xun had the nerve to say they were the same age?!
Fine, fine. If he wanted to keep bringing up age, Zhao Song would see how long this “youngster” could last in the industry.
The advertisement Song Xun had taken on featured multiple endorsers. The event gathered several of them, and aside from those he wasn’t familiar with, only Zhao Song stood beside him.
The host beamed, waving to the fans in the audience before starting the proceedings.
“Then our warm-up mini-game is about to begin! Let’s have our Zhao Song, Teacher Zhao, come up and draw the first slip of paper.”
Zhao Song slowly walked onto the stage, waving to the fans below. However, noticing that only a few of the banners held by the fans were in support of him, the corner of his mouth twitched. He had once been extremely popular, but now the audience was filled with fans chasing after young idols—truly lacking in taste.
He drew a paper ball from the box and handed it to the host. The host unfolded it and began announcing the content of the first mini-game.
“Alright, thank you, Brother Zhao, for drawing the first mini-game. What will it be?”